


The Ring

by deweydell



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2016-06-01
Packaged: 2018-05-01 09:14:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5200361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deweydell/pseuds/deweydell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Malfoys don't believe in "new traditions," but an unexpected engagement might break a few of their old ones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The reading of the Sunday  _Prophet_  was a long-held but unheralded tradition in the Malfoy household. Lucius rose between six and seven every morning, so by the time Narcissa made her way downstairs around eight he had already combed through the financial pages and flipped through the sports section and was often well on his way through the world news. He saved the U.K. pages for last, as he often liked to go through it with Narcissa and call her attention to various articles of interest.

Narcissa, meanwhile, greeting Lucius and taking her customary seat to his right at the table, would settle in with the society pages, occasionally murmuring in surprise or sharing news of note with her husband. There had been a time when there was a good deal to share, as anyone who might grace the society pages would have been a familiar face at their frequent dinner parties, the charity balls the attended, or at the club Lucius belonged to, the Cypress & Elm. Long years and the war had changed what the Malfoys would have considered "society" immeasurably, and now as often as not Narcissa read the society pages in silence, and with a look of great distaste.

Privately Narcissa would admit that she appreciated these quiet Sunday mornings with her husband, and until recently, her son. Draco had moved out of the Manor a month or so ago without warning, and Narcissa had not adjusted fully to his absence; as she descended the stairs that morning, she caught herself wondering when Draco might wake up and emerge from his rooms, rumpled and squinting, to nibble at breakfast and have a cup of tea before retiring back to bed for a few more hours.

When she had mentioned to Lucius that she felt Draco's move had been rather sudden, he had said dryly, "Did it feel that way to you?"

Whatever Lucius might say, and however much of a handful Draco had been over the past few years, she knew that Lucius missed him too - and worried about him just as much as Narcissa did. Draco had only been back at home for a year or so since getting into a bit of trouble on the continent and needing to take some time to rest and recuperate in a facility in Switzerland, for the second time in the past few years. Although he irritably reassured her that he was fine now, that he had the trouble well in hand, she could not help but feel anxious that he was going off on his own again so soon.

A steaming cup of tea was already fixed for her, as well as a spread of kippers, eggs, toast, and bacon. Lucius had finished breakfast already and was having coffee.

He looked up from the paper as she took her seat, sliding the U.K. section across to her.

"You'll want to read the item about the new Task Force to Advance Muggleborn Interests," he told her. "Shacklebolt has assembled a truly laughable lineup to champion his little cause."

"Good morning," she murmured in return, accepting the paper.

"That project has been utterly ill conceived from the start. This just guarantees they'll lose any momentum they might have gained from that simpering write up in the  _Prophet_  last week."

"I don't suppose it matters, darling. Nothing important has ever been decided upon by a committee, as you always say."

Narcissa was tired of Lucius getting himself worked up over these matters. After the war he had promised her they might retire somewhere peaceful. His house arrest, the ugly attention from the press, and the embarrassing defection of families who they had once considered close friends had left her feeling slightly soiled and even shamed, wanting nothing more than a fresh start somewhere.

Money could buy them any second chance they could possibly dream of, but Lucius, despite the many soothing reassurances he offered, had shown no actual interest in quitting public life. Though he remained mostly out of circulation, not giving dinners, making showy endowments, or calling on his friends and contacts in the Ministry, the ferocious attention he paid to news about things like this foolish task force gave her the impression that he was merely biding his time, waiting for the moment the wind turned before he leapt back into action.

She knew he was bored and restless, tired of the heavy yoke he had carried for their family after the war. While Narcissa and Draco had been cleared of charges on their own and Harry Potter's testimony (the name was still bitter in her mouth), Lucius had carried the burden of their collective guilt, being placed on probation and house arrest as well as paying heavy fines for his role in the war. It had been less than some families had been forced to bear - serving time in the new prison that been constructed after Azkaban had been torn down, or worse, having to turn in one's wand - but it had worn heavily on Lucius. He was a proud man, and being forced to submit and publicly atone for his behavior in this fashion had taken a toll on him.

Once free from house arrest he had compensated by throwing himself into new hobbies, among them sailing. This summer he had collected his third boat, a stately-looking catamaran. Narcissa had tried to be supportive, but struggled.

"If you ever name a boat after me, I'll divorce you," she had told him, when he asked her for suggestions.

That wasn't even to mention all the trouble Draco had gotten himself into since the trial, which had brought yet more embarrassment and scrutiny on their family. It was little consolation to her and Lucius that Draco was far from the only pureblooded youth who had indulged in a few vices to compensate for the difficult situation in which they now found themselves, as the indecent glee the media took in any slight misstep from the Malfoy family elevated Draco's indiscretions far above the rest.

Probably because Narcissa had been thinking of Draco, she had a vision of his name printed on the paper she held now in front of her. She shook her head to clear it, and saw, vividly printed in the Announcements section:

_Mr D. L. Malfoy and Miss A. M. Greengrass_

_The engagement is announced between Draco, son of Mr and Mrs Lucius Malfoy, of Wiltshire, and Astoria, younger daughter of Mr and Mrs Alphius Greengrass, Herefordshire._

Narcissa read the announcement several times and stared at it without seeing for some minutes more. There had been an error, she decided. Draco had not asked her for the ring. And he would never have forgotten his promise.

"Narcissa? Is something the matter?"

"I believe so," she told Lucius calmly. "It seems there's been a mistake."

She set the paper down, excusing herself from the table to finish getting dressed. Bewildered, Lucius picked up the page from where she had dropped it and began scanning.

He called her name as she reached the top of the stairs, looking up at her beseechingly, his face pale.

"Did you know about this?" He demanded.

"There's nothing to know," she told him. "There's been a simple error. They'll issue a correction."


	2. Chapter 2

Glasses stacked themselves and clanked out the open door and down the hall, startling the house elf cleaning Suite 912. Bedclothes shook out and tucked themselves in, somewhat unevenly. Trousers and jumpers whizzed through the air, jamming themselves into a chest of drawers. His pipe and weed buried themselves in his nightstand, the half-empty decanter of scotch disappearing quietly behind a curtain.

Draco contemplated a shave but decided there wasn't time; he would have to settle for washing his face and brushing his teeth. How utterly, thoroughly, completely like his father to announce he would be arriving in ten minutes with something urgent to discuss.

"I'm coming for dinner tonight," Draco had protested. "Can't we talk then?"

"This can't wait."

"Fine - I'll meet you downstairs for breakfast. I can be there in a half hour."

"Your mother and I breakfasted hours ago. I'll see you in ten minutes."

The Floo connection died as suddenly as it had begun, and Draco had launched into a frenzy of activity. He had only been staying at the Avalon for a month, and neither of his parents had dropped in yet for tea as they had mentioned they might. He would have preferred it to remain that way, but his father was not a man who heard the word "no" and believed it applied to him.

He was just buzzing down to the kitchens to request tea service when the front desk bell rang, announcing his father was in the lobby. As the elf was bringing up the tea a few moments later, the Floo roared back to life. Confused, he turned and saw Astoria in the fire, looking frantic.

"Darling, I'm so sorry - "

"Astoria, I'm sorry, this will have to wait, my father's coming up now. I'll Floo you after he leaves."

She looked horrified. "Oh God. You haven't seen the paper?"

"Paper?"

The lift chimed down the hall.

"I made a mistake, darling, I'm so sorry - I submitted an announcement yesterday to the  _Prophet_." She glanced around swiftly, as if to be sure she was alone, and lowered her voice. "I was so angry at Daphne I wasn't thinking straight."

"What sort of announcement?" he demanded sharply.

There was a crisp knock at the door.

"Just a moment!" he called, wincing, then turned back to Astoria, who was in tears.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered. "It's about - you know -  _the engagement._  Daphne was just being so nasty to me after the gallery opening Friday night, I wanted to shut her up. I sent in an announcement to the  _Prophet_  that night and I forgot all about it until Mother Flooed me this morning, crying."

He stared at her, mute.

"Well, I'll let you… you know." She looked miserable.

"I'll Floo you after," he managed to say, as his father used  _alohomora_  to let himself in. He swept in imperiously, his long black cloak pristine despite the falling snow outside.

"I don't appreciate being kept waiting in the hallway," he snapped, holding out his cloak and scarf, which Draco accepted. "Although it's little wonder you weren't in a hurry to see me after your stunt this morning."

"That's really - "

"Your mother is beside herself. What on earth made you think this was a fitting way to announce an engagement to your family? What were you thinking? This shows a shocking lack of regard for our feelings and priorities."

Watching distastefully as the elf began laying out the tea service in the small sitting room area of Draco's suite, he added, "Still, I suppose it's not all that much of a surprise, given the long line of terrible judgment calls you've made the past few years."

"It wasn't me," Draco snapped. "Astoria submitted the announcement. I didn't know anything about it. She was angry at her sister, she said, she wanted to get back at her."

His father raised his eyebrows. "Very mature," he remarked. "Still, I admit this is a relief. Perhaps you might take this moment to re-evaluate this relationship."

"You told me you liked Astoria," Draco protested.

"She's a charming girl, Draco, but I'm sure you'll see that in the long term you want a wife who's a bit more substantial. Parties and art galleries are all fine entertainment for a youthful companion, but considering the utter shambles you've made of your own reputation in recent years, it's of the utmost importance to choose a wife who can show that you're someone to be taken seriously."

The elf bowed low to them to indicate tea was ready to be served, and Draco settled into one of the armchairs. His father remained standing, looking down at his nose at the elegant spread before him as if the elf had offered them yesterday's moldering filet of sole.

"Astoria is entirely serious!" Draco said, flustered and hastily getting back to his feet. "She's on the junior board at the Lourenço Modern Art Museum and she's run several very successful - "

"Oh come now, Draco, really!" His father dismissed the elf with a single curt glance. The creature bowed low again to both of them and left. "She's a socialite. I'm sure she's a very entertaining girl to spend your time with right now, and I won't begrudge you being young and having a bit of fun, but when it's time to settle down, you'll find she's simply not equipped to the task. I met dozens of girls like Astoria when I was a young man, and I had a very enjoyable time, but I chose to marry your mother."

"And I'm glad, obviously, but I think you've got a very limited picture of the sort of witch Astoria is. I know all the society pages in the  _Prophet_ show about her life are parties and charity events, but she's got much more going on than that. I'd hoped you could see that."

"I had hoped many things for you, but we both know how that turned out," his father said coldly. "Dally with this girl as you like. She's certainly preferable to much of the female company you've kept in the past."

The fact that the  _Prophet_  and various tabloids loved printing pictures of Draco entangled with actresses, singers, models, and occasionally dancers was entirely out of his control - not that his father bothered to make that distinction.

"But when it comes time to choose a wife, I trust you won't disappoint your mother and me, yet again."

Infuriated, Draco spread his arms wide.

"Well then, by all means, consider yourself  _disappointed_!" he snapped. "Astoria and I are engaged. I had hoped to share this with you and Mother in a rather different fashion, but I suppose if the news is going to be such a letdown, it hardly matters."

There was a long, thick silence. Lucius stared at Draco, his jaw set hard. Neither of them moved.

After several long minutes, Draco offered, "Some tea?"

"Thank you, no," his father said, his voice expressionless. "Not that you're owed this measure of courtesy, but I'll let you break the news to your mother yourself. She deserves to hear this from you."

"Thank you," Draco managed, watching somewhat meekly as his father recalled his cloak and scarf with a twitch of his wand, then swept from the room.

As soon as the door shut and locked behind him Draco gestured with his own wand, calling forth a tumbler, ice, and a few fingers of scotch, glancing down at his watch mechanically as he did so. Close enough to noon.


	3. Chapter 3

The atmosphere inside the Chelsea flat Astoria and her sister Daphne shared could seldom be described as warm or cozy, but this morning the slushy grey snowfall looked positively inviting in comparison. Daphne had woken Astoria up to let her know their mother wanted to speak to her over the Floo, and to be quick, and since then had not spoken a single word to her.

Astoria didn't have the energy to care about Daphne's frigid silence now, though. The conversation with her mother had taken far too much out of her. She had made Astoria aware in no uncertain terms that she disapproved at every level - in Astoria's timing, her manner of announcement (she felt the  _Prophet_  was a gauche choice), and above all her choice of partner. Since her mother refused to say Draco Malfoy's name, a stranger eavesdropping on their Floo conversation would have been forgiven for thinking Astoria planned to marry a pirate king with a vast harem who picked his teeth at dinner.

"He's not like that, Mama! That's just what they print in the  _Prophet_. He's been very good to me. You haven't even met him!"

"I've seen enough of him to know I don't find him to be a suitable husband for my daughter! I need to go talk with your father now, and answer the piles of owls that have come in. We'll be speaking about this."

The fire died and Astoria buried her head in her hands. Behind her, Daphne, who had been pretending to read the paper while their mother berated Astoria, gave a tiny, satisfied little sigh, retiring to the bedroom to finish dressing.

After making Draco aware of the firecracker she had just dropped in his lap, she sat down at the table, smiling in thanks as the hired elf Rorie laid out some breakfast for her. Daphne, returning to the room in a richly embroidered set of purple robes, settled down with a cup of tea.

"My congratulations," she murmured ironically, retrieving the Arts and Entertainment section from the neat stack of papers.

Astoria's relationship with Draco was the sorest point in her already deeply strained relationship with her sister. Daphne had always detested Draco, who had subjected her to several highly juvenile and embarrassing gags when they were at school, but the reputation he had gained after finishing Hogwarts as both a Death Eater and the black sheep of their well-tarred social circle had made him fully a persona non grata to her. To add to that, she was a close friend of Pansy Parkinson, who had dated Draco for years and who he had cast aside for Astoria.

At first Daphne has registered her disapproval in her usual way - pointed silences, raised eyebrows, and sidelong remarks. When Astoria began to be seen out with him - when the papers and Daphne's friends took notice and began to gossip - she escalated. That Astoria was endangering her own reputation was one matter; that she was associating with someone from whom Daphne had pointedly disassociated, that people were beginning to whisper when Daphne entered the room, merely because of Astoria's relationship, was entirely another.

She would insist on arriving separately at parties; purposely stood across the room from her and made small cutting remarks when they did happen to cross paths. Daphne considered herself much too prudent to share in any of the gossip that was circulated, but her pointed shunning of Astoria told a story on its own.

"Oh, what does it matter," she had sighed when Astoria had asked her opinion of a hat while they were shopping with friends. "No one will notice what you're wearing in the company you'll be seen with."

The last straw had been Friday night. Astoria has been out at an art opening in SoHo with her friends Richard and Wesley, and as often happened, had gotten into an argument with Richard, overindulged in champagne and been brought home by Wesley.

"Don't ask," she had told Daphne as soon as she crossed the landing, throwing down her tiny bag onto the settee. Her sister had been curled up on the couch with a book - waiting to go to bed until Astoria returned home, she thought sourly, because Daphne couldn't pass up the chance to look down her nose at her younger sister.

"I don't need to," Daphne had said, surveying her dispassionately. "It's the same story, night after night. Although you look even more of a disgrace than usual."

Perhaps Astoria had not looked her best self at that moment. One of her heels had broken, her dress had come unzipped down her side, and there were black trails of mascara down her cheeks.

"I'm not interested in your opinion," Astoria snapped.

"Are you interested in anyone's at this point, I wonder? You certainly don't act like it. Parties every night, being escorted home by different men -"

"Wesley is gay and you know that perfectly well."

"I don't pay that much attention to your comings and goings, Astoria. Would that no one else did, either - you might not have quite the reputation you have."

"You're being nasty because you were stuck at home while I was out having fun." Astoria threw off her heels, wincing as her ankle came free from one of the cutting straps. Underneath, her heels and toenails were blackened from the grime of the city streets.

"Oh, yes - what a lot of fun you're having! If only I could have been at your vapid little art opening, getting drunk and acting out, making a spectacle of myself with your degenerate friends. You simply must invite me next time."

"No one wants you there," Astoria spat at her. "You think you're spurning them, like you're making some kind of statement. But no one would have invited you even if you wanted to go."

"Of course they wouldn't," Daphne said, arching her eyebrow. "They recognize I'm not their kind."

"They recognize that you're an utter bore."

"Forgive me for not being as entertaining as you are," Daphne said, her voice growing silkier and more dangerous. "If only I were willing to embarrass myself, then people might want me to come to their parties so they could talk about me after I've gone."

Astoria had turned and was heading into her bedroom, realizing that the argument had gone too far and would only get worse.

"But what does it matter for you, really? You're already ruined."

There could only be one thing Daphne was referring to. They had never discussed the incident at the Goyles' wedding six months ago, when Astoria had been found with Draco Malfoy half-undressed in the vestry, but it had loomed large between them.

"You may as well have your fun while you can," Daphne went on. "I'm afraid there won't be much else for you. No one could possibly take you seriously now. It's a bit sad, really, seeing you parade around with Draco Malfoy. He might be the best you can do right now, but he can still do far better, and I assure you he knows that."

"Does he?" Astoria bit out. "We were both in that vestry together. If I'm sunk, then so is he."

Daphne laughed, regarding her younger sister with her milky blue eyes. "Oh, Astoria," she sighed. "He was being wild. You were being foolish. Can't you see the difference? Mother and father certainly can. They think it would be  _very_  good for you to go abroad for a while."

"Mother said that because she wanted me to work at the magazine in New York with Aunt Sarah," Astoria snapped. Daphne rolled her eyes.

"Of course she told  _you_  that," she sneered. "But really she doesn't see a future here for you right now. It's rather hard for any of us to."

As Astoria turned to go into her room, she added, "I'm so pleased you had a fun night."

And so Astoria had dashed off the announcement to the  _Prophet,_  flung herself into her bed, and cried herself to sleep.

As Rorie cleared the breakfast things, she could feel Daphne's eyes on her. Whatever Daphne might feel about Draco's suitability or Astoria's reputation, Astoria knew that her meanness came from a hateful jealousy. Since Astoria had come of age and begun to smarten herself up, Daphne may as well have been wallpaper for all the attention men paid her when she was out with Astoria.

The resentment had built up over the years and grown into something poisonous, a bubbling cauldron of bitterness. Daphne might reassure herself however she liked with polishing her sterling reputation, but the nights were long and virtue was a cold comfort.


	4. Chapter 4

For the first eighteen years of her life Andromeda had been somebody's daughter, and had never needed to lift a finger to keep her richly appointed home in immaculate condition.

For the next twenty-six years she was somebody's wife, and then somebody's mother, and had learned with years and sweat, tears, and exhaustion the work that went into keeping an immaculate home, but she did not let her standards slip. Not with her slovenly husband, nor when her daughter was a rambunctious child whose appetite for destruction left no house plant or good china standing upright and in one piece, nor even now, with Teddy, whose high spirits often made Dora look docile in comparison.

As it was, by the time Andromeda's sister came back into her life a few years ago, she had developed sufficient confidence in her housekeeping abilities to open her home to the Minister for Magic, and more than enough self-possession not to give the slightest damn what her spoiled little sister thought about any of it.

It was a comfortable cottage, not spacious but not cramped. Tastefully appointed but not luxuriously so, it took barely twenty minutes for Andromeda to achieve a showroom sparkle that awed her muggle neighbors into reverent silence when she invited them over for tea.

It was a leisurely Sunday morning spent lingering over the paper, but while Teddy quietly read his comic books next to her in the dining room, Andromeda continually checked the clock, waiting. Narcissa's announcement via owl that she would be joining Andromeda for tea at two o'clock finally arrived just after noon, so Andromeda ushered Teddy to the shower and into his good robes before she set about tidying.

She had just settled back down when there was a crisp knock at the door. At his grandmother's pointed glance, Teddy hurried over to answer it, and Andromeda began preparing the tea.

From the hall his voice piped, "Good afternoon, Cousin Narcissa," with the singsong quality of speech that had been carefully rehearsed. "You're looking very well. May I take your cloak?"

"Thank you, Edward."

Teddy came into the living room proudly bearing her sister's fine sable cloak, and Andromeda gently directed him to the cupboard in the hall.

As she leaned in to buss her sister on the cheek, she waited for an underhanded comment about the furnishings, the muggle neighbors' gaudy front garden, or the carpet in the hall that needed replacing, but none came. Drawing back, she saw with some surprise that Narcissa had taken no notice of any of it.

The announcement in the _Prophet_ this morning had clearly rattled her badly. This gave Andromeda the advantage, but she chose not to play it this early.

She poured tea for both of them, noticing that Narcissa was absently toying with the clasp of the thin silver bracelet on her wrist - a nervous habit she had been given to since she was a girl.

"Is that a gift from Lucius?" Andromeda asked. "How lovely."

Narcissa held out her wrist as if noticing the bracelet for the first time. "For our anniversary in June."

"How wonderfully understated," Andromeda said, smiling. "Such a relief he came to his senses about the chandelier earrings. I fear they would have been rather a showy choice for you, my dear, but I'm sure they will suit the right _young_ woman beautifully."

"Undoubtedly," Narcissa says distantly. "I am really very fortunate. Lucius has always shown such exquisite taste in choosing gifts for me. It is a pleasure to have a husband with such _refined_ sensibilities."

Andromeda gave a little laugh. "How _true_ \- so few of us are privileged to find a husband with such unerring judgment as Lucius!"

They passed tea time trading velvet covered barbs, but Andromeda could tell that her sister's spirit wasn't in it. Where ordinarily Narcissa relished getting in digs about Andromeda's past transgressions, the caliber of her social circle, and most often the mortifyingly middle class circumstances into which she had landed, she seemed distracted today, leaving herself open and letting perfectly good opportunities slip past her.

It was as though Narcissa knew this skirmish had already been fought and won.

Her cool blue eyes impassive, Narcissa finally said, "I suppose _you_ knew."

Andromeda said nothing, stirring her tea.

"Obviously you knew, or you would have Flooed to us straight away when you saw the announcement this morning," she added, gazing off just to the left of Andromeda to give the impression that this was merely a passing observation, that her thoughts were already wandering because it all meant very little to her. The bitter edge to her voice told Andromeda otherwise, though.

Andromeda had been waiting weeks for Narcissa to find out about the engagement, ever since Draco had shown her the ring. She had known instinctively that he would not tell his parents, because they would not approve, and he would prefer to avoid an unpleasant row.

Draco would mean to tell them. He would have every intention of doing so at the earliest opportunity, but somehow, it would simply never come up, until it was forced into the open.

Andromeda had known this. And so she bided her time, and waited, a cat playing with the canary she had caught, reveling in its last moments of life.

"Of course I assumed he had told you," Andromeda said smoothly. "How too shocking that you had to find out that way. I'm certain Draco must have had his reasons."

The reasons being that her nephew was a selfish, spoiled boy who would always take the path of least resistance. But that did not need to be said.

"I thought the announcement was very tastefully done," Andromeda added.

Narcissa sniffed. "Indeed, as you are the last word on taste."

Andromeda smiled, helping herself to another cake.

"I suppose it's no wonder he came to you first," Narcissa went on. "Who better to offer guidance in such a circumstance?"

"I'm sure dear Draco didn't mean any sort of slight. He only came to the person he felt most comfortable with."

"How could I feel slighted? Of course he came to you, he knew you would be the only person who would reinforce his juvenile behavior!"

"Entirely natural for him to wish to share his good fortune with a family member he knew would respect his decision, not treat him like an errant child."

"Well, I don't respect his decision," Narcissa snapped. "It's not as if he's thought this through. He barely knows this girl. He's throwing his entire future away on a reckless infatuation. What on earth am I to respect about that?"

For the first time Andromeda felt a hot lick of anger inside her chest, but her voice was cool and even as she said, "You can respect the person that you love, and respect that he has made a decision for himself that has nothing to do with you. Surely you've learned that by now."

Narcissa rolled her eyes. "Oh, _really_. It has everything to do with us. It did when you turned against us, and it does now. A decision that changes the course of one's life isn't made in a vacuum."

"But it's not your life that's changing course. It's his."

"Oh, why should I talk to you about this?" Narcissa asked with a sigh. "How could you possibly understand? You tore all of our lives apart to gratify your own selfish desires. You had to _be your own person._ But we were more than that. We were a family, Andromeda. Things could have been - it all could have been different. It didn't have to be the way it was, if you would have only stopped to think about what you were doing."

"I thought about it a great deal, and I made my choice," Andromeda replied. "I'd make it again today. I hope for your sake Draco feels he has other options."

Abruptly Andromeda felt rather tired of the game, and suspected her sister felt the same, judging from the way she leaned her head back against the divan and closed her eyes. These were deep and dangerous waters they waded across now. One false move could send them plunging into an argument that could unlock all the years of bitter, brutal grievances between them that had been so carefully sealed away. The hard work of building, piece by piece, the uneasy and fragile trust that existed between them now could be destroyed in an instant.

Narcissa gazed into the fire for some time in silence. When she spoke again, she sounded unmistakably and terribly sad.

"I hadn't let myself believe it was true until I came to see you," she said finally. "When I saw you, I knew."

Her sister's sudden vulnerability and the realization of how close they had come to the precipice stilled Andromeda's anger.

"You really must chin up," Andromeda told her. "The engagement might fall apart still. Think of everything Draco could do in the next year to drive the poor child away."

Narcissa gave her a cold look.

Andromeda peered at her younger sister curiously, calling forth a decanter of brandy and two snifters with lazy wave of her wand. "What's the matter with this girl, really? I've met her - she's from a good family, and she's charming enough. She seems a bit frivolous, but after all, she's young. Did you want him to marry that other girl? I never thought - "

"The Parkinson girl? Oh heavens, no." Narcissa shuddered.

"Astoria is certainly preferable to some of the other choices Draco could have made," Andromeda pointed out.

"If you're referring to him running off with a nightclub dancer or some sort of actress, I can assure you, I woke up several nights in a cold sweat dreaming of it."

"In contrast, Astoria looks positively genteel."

"Let's not go that far," Narcissa sniffed. "Her mother is an American, after all."

"A very rich American."

"The _very_ worst kind."

"What does Lucius think?"

"He's convinced it's merely a phase," Narcissa sighed. "It's true Draco has been an utter fool in the past about girls. But what if it's _not_ a phase?"

"Then he'll marry the girl," Andromeda said with a shrug, dampening the fire with a wave of her wand. It was getting far too warm. "There are really far worse choices he could make. Even as melodramatic as you're being now, you must be able to see _that._ "

Narcissa waved her hand irritably.

"Oh, I don't care about the girl," she said, sounding tired. "It's just I can't quite bear to take it seriously. I have to think of it as some passing fancy. He never asked me for the ring, you know."

Andromeda took a long sip of brandy to give her a moment to steady her voice before speaking. "Do you mean Mamma's ring?"

Her sister's fingers found her silver bracelet again, turning it over and over. "Years ago he promised me would ask me for it when the right girl came along. He was only a boy, but it was a promise. I thought he understood."

Someone had made a promise about that ring to Andromeda, once. On a bitterly cold winter night when Andromeda was a small girl, she had played in her mother's rooms while her mother dressed for the opera. The floor was strewn with pearl bracelets, lavalier necklaces, diamond tiaras while Andromeda sorted through them and tried them on, but her mother called her away, putting the black diamond ring on her finger.

"Don't you want it anymore, Mummy?"

Her mother laughed. More than anything, Andromeda remembered the sound of her mother's laugh - throaty and rich, like an indulgent dessert.

"I'm going to hang onto it for a little while longer," her mother said, accepting the ring back from her. "But when you're much older and you want to get married, I want you to have it. I know you'll love it the most."

The joy she had felt then was unprecedented in her life, better than any toy or new kitten or trip to the beach. It was all Andromeda had ever dreamed of, to know that her mother singled her out for special favor above her sisters, that she knew Andromeda loved her the best.

But it was just one moment of joy, one memory, with thousands of others piled on top of it. Through the years Andromeda's mother only became more exacting and harder and harder to please. Fragments of memories came back to her now - an icy moment alone in the sitting room, her mother's cool tone of displeasure, the way she had averted her eyes when Andromeda erred in some manner front of her - as piercing and clear as if they had happened yesterday.

Even now as she gazed around her house, it was her mother's voice she heard coolly critiquing the furnishings, the state of the linens, the tiny hairline crack one of the china saucers. Her mother had always looked out at the world determined to find fault, and after so many years examining herself through her mother's eyes, that was all Andromeda could see.

But once a long time ago, her mother had loved her. She had combed her hair and kissed the top of her head and promised her a ring. After all these years, after all Andromeda had seen and the full, surprising, joyful life she had led, it galled her how much it still meant.

The brandy was finished and the two sisters sat in silence, absorbed in their thoughts.

"Have you seen the ring he chose?"

The question took Andromeda by surprise. In her long silver robes, her sister gave the impression of a lake frozen over - impenetrable and unknowable beneath.

"I did."

"I imagine it's awful."

"Oh, rather."

"I suppose it's a bit silly," Narcissa said, looking down at her own hands, where the platinum band set with sapphires and diamonds glittered in the dim light. "It's just a ring, after all. But I wanted to think it mattered to him. After everything we've seen together - after all he's been through - I hoped family tradition still meant something. It would have - not made it all right, but it would have felt all right, somehow. Things won't ever be quite the same again. Nothing will. I know that. But it would have felt as if - as if some things can carry on."

Perhaps they shouldn't, Andromeda thought. They had all inherited a toxic past, and in some ways they would be bound to it forever. But it didn't mean they had to accept it.

"It's not the same," Andromeda replied, helping her sister into her cloak. Narcissa turned to look at her, her blue eyes calm and frank. "But things will carry on."

"I suppose they must," Narcissa said, adjusting her hat. Her long fingers clasped briefly over Andromeda's, and then she was gone.


	5. Chapter 5

Lucius was pacing, and Draco was late.

They were two of the flaws that Narcissa liked least - impatience and indolence. She had been in a sour mood since her tea with Andromeda, refusing to share with Lucius what had transpired, beyond tersely acknowledging that her suspicion Andromeda had known about the engagement had been correct.

"The absolute cheek of that woman," he had fumed, furious more that someone had gotten the better of him than at any sense of familial betrayal.

Narcissa had ignored him the rest of the afternoon but he remained close by, casting her increasingly black looks as she refused to enlighten him as to her inner thoughts. For Lucius this was a time that should have been spent talking strategy, positioning, what they might be prepared to negotiate with Draco. Every conflict was a battle to Lucius, one that he needed to win at all costs, but right now Narcissa just wanted to understand.

While she reclined in one of the armchairs in the drawing room, gazing into the fire, he was upstairs finishing getting dressed, probably still berating the elf who had presented his watch unpolished. It was a beautiful watch, his grandfather's on his father's side. Draco had been given Lucius' father Abraxas' watch when he turned seventeen, but claimed he had lost it.

"Sold it, more like," Lucius had remarked dispassionately after Draco had returned from rehab the second time. "It would have fetched at least, what, 5,000 Galleons? That's a few weeks of expenses, perhaps."

Lucius would know because he had obsessively pored over the bank statements that had come through those years, going into the bank to dispute charges so often that Narcissa, humiliated, could no longer venture into Gringotts. After they had cut him off, Draco had ripped through his trust fund from her parents at an alarming rate, and then proceeded to wheedle his way onto his family's accounts at any institutions where he could. It was not that Lucius cared so much about the money, she knew - although with the burdensome war reparations they had paid, it had become more difficult for them to maintain - but policing Draco's spending was the only way he had been able to exercise any measure of control over his son.

An elf approached her, bearing her customary aperitif - champagne with dragon fruit - on a silver tray. As she accepted the flute, however, the elf lingered, trembling with some anxiety.

"Madame, Tinsy begs a word, madame."

"Speak," she said, boredly.

"Madame, Tinsy is wondering whether to serve the sherry and wine with dinner. In the past when young Master Malfoy has dined we have served a sparkling pumpkin juice, madame, very delicious - "

Most unfortunately Lucius had entered the room and overheard this. "What?" he snapped. "Of course we'll be serving wine. Who's asked your opinion of the menu, elf? Are you to dine with us this evening?"

"No sir, no, I is not - "

"Just get out," Narcissa said and Tinsy fled. She waited until the elf was out of earshot before adding to her husband, "We're sure about serving wine? After what you saw at his hotel suite this morning?"

Lucius rolled his eyes. "It's wine at dinner, Narcissa, really. If Draco can't control himself we should seriously reevaluate the situation."

"You said the suite looked like an opium den," she pointed out.

Lucius looked annoyed, adjusting his cuffs. "I'm not going to let his foolishness ruin a perfectly good meal."

"But really - "

He gave her a quelling look. "Life must go on sometime, Narcissa."

Life had gone on far too much for her liking in the last seven years.

Down the hall Draco was finally making an appearance. She could hear the murmurings of Tinsy taking his cloak and escorting him down the hall through the library. But there was another voice, high and bright, ringing like a bell with laughter at something Draco said. She saw Lucius register this at the same time she did, and he whipped back to look at her.

"The little coward," Lucius said softly, looking stunned. "He brought the girl."

"Mr. Malfoy and Miss Greengrass," the elf announced, departing with a bow. Draco came forward to kiss Narcissa's cheek in greeting,

"You're late," she said before he could speak.

He raised an eyebrow at her, pouring two sherries with a flick of his wand from the decanter on the sideboard. "Hello, Mother."

"There's no time for a drink now. Dinner's about to be served."

"Hello, Mrs. Malfoy," the girl interrupted, a brassy sheen in her voice poorly masking her nervousness. "Mr. Malfoy. Thank you for inviting me."

"Always a pleasure, Astoria, my dear," Lucius said, bending down stiffly to kiss her cheek, while Narcissa gave Draco a long, hard look that he pretended not to notice.

"I thought this would be a nice time to get to know one another better," Draco said with false brightness. "Now that Astoria is to be family."

"Indeed, you couldn't have picked a better time," Lucius said coldly.

Dinner was served in the small dining room, where she and Lucius took most of their meals now, having little need of the grand state dining room where they had used to entertain so often. Narcissa's watched the girl guardedly as they all took their seats and wine was poured. She was all sparkle - bright eyes, white teeth, a silver lariat necklace that she fidgeted with nervously. As her fingers plucked at the thin chain between her collarbones, the candlelight reflected off her ring.

"I'm so pleased to offer my congratulations, my dear," Narcissa told her, conjuring up only the faintest wisp of a smile.

The girl beamed back and Narcissa instantly recoiled. "Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy."

If she thought Narcissa might take the opportunity to suggest that Astoria should call Mrs. Malfoy by her Christian name, she was badly wrong.

Narcissa participated little in the conversation that evening, which along customary lines devolved into a monologue from her husband on the state of affairs at the Ministry of Magic, the economy, and the great deficiencies in modern wizarding society.. Although Draco's attention wandered everywhere but his father, Lucius had a rapt audience in Astoria, who nodded, smiled, and asked questions as if cued by an invisible conductor's baton. Nothing so warmed an older man as a young girl's undivided attention, and so Narcissa found to her deep disgust that the silly girl seemed to be winning her husband over.

If one were so inclined - and Narcissa was most assuredly so inclined - there was ample fault to be found in her son's new fiancee. But she knew from long experience watching charming girls make their way in the world that most people, like her husband and her son, would not look so closely. A winning smile, a warm touch on one's elbow, a girlish whispered confidence and a private wink would lead them to dismiss all the qualities they professed to esteem in others with the wave of a hand.

It was the reason none of them had ever really worried about Andromeda. She had been the charming one, and they had known that whatever happened, she would land on her feet. Narcissa, shy and standoffish, had watched her sister at school and at parties like a hawk all through her teen years, but it had been in vain. There was no emulating effortless charm.

The girl's bell-like laugh rang out. "I'm sure I don't agree, Mr. Malfoy, but you make a very compelling case."

Lucius smiled at her. "Astoria, please. We're to be family. It's Lucius."

In the months and years to come there would be many fraught conversations, some so bitterly divisive, so venomous they threatened the ideas all of the Malfoys held about family. They would fight about the wedding planning, about Draco's drinking, about family vacations and money and his fiancee's much too liberal views. Draco would stop speaking to them for a week when they threatened not to attend the wedding after discovering they were to be seated with Astoria's uncle and his muggleborn wife. Narcissa would weep when she tried to explain to her son why it had so deeply wounded her that he had not kept his promise about the ring. He had forgotten all about it, he explained to her, and really the ring wouldn't have suited Astoria anyway. He did not understand why she was so upset.

In the end, it didn't matter why she was upset and she did not try to explain. It was not Narcissa's mother's ring sparkling on Astoria's finger, but she was to be family nonetheless.

The victory of obtaining her mother's ring had always been hollow. The ring was never intended for Narcissa, but with Andromeda exiled and Bellatrix in prison, when their mother had passed she had been the only one who could accept it. She had felt the responsibility of such a heavy heirloom keenly, and now it was hers alone - it would never be Astoria's.

Across the table, Astoria placed her fingers in Draco's palm, smiling at Lucius beatifically.

"Family,' she echoed, raising her glass.


	6. Chapter 6

The quiet was bone deep - a luxury nearly unheard of at Gare du Nord in Paris, but at just past six in the morning, beyond the barrier that separated them from the muggles, the stillness was palpable. Around them old Vietnamese witches and wizards dozed, while others contemplated the crossword in the Sunday _Prophet_. The portkey to Da Nang left in fifteen minutes, but until then, all was quiet.

"What did your parents think of our honeymoon plans?" Astoria asked sleepily, her head resting against his shoulder.

"It didn't go over very big, I'm afraid. 'Indochina? Why should you want to go there? If you're looking for somewhere exotic, Burma is very fine this time of year.' Then they just kept naming places that don't exist anymore for the rest of dessert."

Astoria laughed. "It's fine. My parents were rather confused as well - they didn't realize the Vietnam War had ended."

"Oh yes, that came up as well. 'Don't you _know_ about the muggle revolutionaries?' It's like time stopped 40 years ago."

They lapsed into silence, Draco idly tracing her finger bones - phalanges and metacarpals, she remembered, from somewhere distant in her mind - with his own long thin white fingers. In her sixth year Alan Pucey had taken her hand and led her down to the Quidditch bleachers after hours. His rough palms had pressed over hers, and the beard he had been so proud of had scratched her cheek when he kissed her, fumblingly, her heart pounding and her head light. Draco's touch in comparison was smooth, precise, yet exquisitely graceful, like a bird dipping its talons into a lake to catch a fish then just as suddenly, soaring back up.

They were married now, and there would never be another Alan Pucey. She felt mostly relief, mingled with some trepidation, an old nagging voice that she had never been able to shake that second guessed her choices. Dating had never appealed to her. As a young girl she had far more enjoyed having crushes on boys than actually talking to them, and as she got a bit older she found she liked talking and flirting just fine at parties, but never seemed to follow up when they owled her or asked to see her again.

All of that was behind her now, but Astoria did not delude herself that marriage would bring bliss. It was not in the nature of the man she had married to offer stability or simplicity or any of the other comforts people seemed to place great stock in. There had been, she remembered, a younger Draco who had been her schoolmate, and had fewer cares on his shoulders and shadows in his eyes, but even then he had been a jealous and angry child.

Inside the angry child, who had grown into a difficult, unhappy man, there was a core of himself that he kept remote, his darkest thoughts, deepest feelings closed impenetrably to the world but open to her, bit by bit and in pieces at a time, if she was careful, if she held her hands up to show she did not come to this place to cause harm.

"Should we queue up?" he asked her, as some of the families began to stir and arrange themselves around the Portkey.

"Let's wait," she murmured into his shoulder. "It's not going anywhere."

He took her hand in his again, fingering the pair of gold bands that now rested on her ring finger. "Mother gave me quite a turn about this, you know," he told her. "She wanted my wife to wear her grandmother's ring. She couldn't believe I'd bought you a new one."

"Why did you?" Astoria asked, tilting her head back to look at his face.

He laughed. "Because you would have _hated_ that ring. It's the size of a fist and about as subtle. Sort of a moldering Edwardian style."

Astoria barely managed to repress a shudder.

"I thought you might be a bit happier with this," he went on, giving the ring on her finger a gentle flick.

The trip to Hong Kong had been a whim; undertaken laughingly, daringly, while they lay around in socks and undergarments at the suite he had taken at the Avalon. A mostly extinguished bottle of champagne and chocolate covered strawberries ordered from in-room dining lay between them on the Persian carpet. As they argued over the last of the strawberries, he reminded her they should have a proper meal at some point during the evening.

"The restaurant's still open downstairs," he said, pulling himself up to his feet and rumpling his hair as he cast about for the menu.

Astoria groaned. "Not again," she protested. "We've had dinner there twice this week."

"You wouldn't be sick of it if you'd order something besides the lamb."

She threw the last strawberry at him. "Take me somewhere _new,_ " she demanded.

He glanced down at his watch, then up at her, raising his eyebrows. "Get dressed."

Twenty minutes later they had been flying to King's Cross, breathless with laughter, to catch the nine-thirty portkey to Shanghai, where, after a harrowing trip across the city in a flying bus piloted by an extraordinarily reckless wizard, they grabbed hold of the ten o'clock portkey to Hong Kong with seconds to spare.

Climbing down the steps from Hung Hom Station, head spinning, she stumbled in her heels, but Draco caught her arm.

He was grinning, the reckless, wild, joyful smile she loved and occasionally feared. Before she knew it he had Apparated the two of them to La Gargouille, the restaurant that appeared to be floating in the air among the stars atop the Cheung Kong Centre, its walls constructed from invisible glass that was both invisible to those looking out from inside, and made everything contained within invisible as well.

They waited at the bar for a corner booth about to open up and decided to stay there, as they both abruptly realized they were ravenous and began ordering obscene amounts of food. It was only later, after Draco and Astoria had enjoyed champagne, scotch, steamed langoustine tails, oysters, and were waiting on chicken veloute and filet de bouef that Draco realized he had forgotten his purse back in England, having paid the portkey fees with change from his coat pockets.

For several seconds they just stared at one another, open-mouthed. Astoria began to giggle.

Neither of their families had accounts at La Gargouille, so the general manager was brought. Assuring himself of Draco's identity with a haughty sniff, he agreed to bill them.

Pooling their resources in the cloak room after dinner, they found that Draco had about fifteen sickles left in his coat pockets and Astoria had another ten Galleons in her purse.

"We couldn't get a room anywhere in the city for that," he said.

Astoria laughed, floating on champagne bubbles. "Why should we get a room? What are we going to do - sleep?"

On the bartender's recommendation they visited a bar in the area frequented by members of the service industry, and over the next few hours Astoria found herself christened "Angelica," wearing a bright pink wig, and laughing so hard she hurt. Most of the patrons were expats, from anywhere and everywhere in the world, so here everything equally foreign to everyone, Draco and Astoria included. To their new friends, Draco became Sebastien, a dragon tamer from Orleans.

Under the winking Christmas lights strung up over the bar - ominously called "The Last Stop" - spending their last Galleons buying a round, Astoria looked at Draco, and when their eyes met she had the sudden feeling that she was seeing him for the first time, and that if he looked at her always the way he was looking at her in that moment that she could never bear to look at anyone again.

The countertop of the bar was sticky with some unknown residue, wet with melted condensation and spilled beer, paper coasters floating atop it, heavy and sodden. But when his hands grasped her waist and lifted her up to sit on top of the bar, she didn't protest.

There was a small box in his hand, she realized, at the same moment the Irish barmaid standing nearest them gasped theatrically and shrieked, "They're getting married! They're getting married!"

No one paid any attention, but Astoria wouldn't have noticed if they had.

"I just got this yesterday," he told her. "I had planned - I don't know, some candlelight dinner under the moonlight in Paris sort of affair. I was certainly going to ask your mother first. But she'd probably say no,"

"She already told me she would," Astoria agreed, laughing.

"Mate, d'you need some space?" The Australian wizard seated at the bar next to Draco asked, but turned back to his companions before he or Astoria had the chance to respond.

Draco reached up and adjusted her pink wig, which she only then remembered she was wearing, leaning in close.

"Marry me, Angelica, and make me the happiest dragon wrangler in the Loire Valley," he whispered into her ear.

She wrapped her legs and arms around him, drawing him close, pulling to her the scent of stale beer, the barmaid's perfume, the lanolin smell of his wool scarf, the traces of scotch that lingered on his breath, needing to hold this moment as tightly as possible so that it could not slip away.

"We really ought to queue up. I don't want to be caught in a crush for broomsticks at the station on the other side. I need to sleep this off."

She rested her head against his shoulder, feeling no sense of urgency.

"Let's go," she said.


End file.
